


Against Necessity

by Kitty Fisher (kittyfisher)



Series: Against Necessity [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Captured, M/M, Sort of Non Con, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:22:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyfisher/pseuds/Kitty%20Fisher
Summary: aliens made them. Oblivous Rodney. Poor John. From LJ.





	

Against Necessity  
Kitty Fisher

For Rivier, who asked. 

 

They come for him after a night spent in freezing solitude. Two uniformed guards, both armed with what look like sawn-off shotguns, and a woman armed with nothing but her smile – and despite the long, ornate draperies of her dress, and the smooth innocence of her skin, Sheppard knows she’s the one he has to be wary of. Something it’s difficult to remember while the guards are slamming him into the wall and casually trying to smear him through it.

At her word they stop, and hold him still. Perfect as a dark rose, she stands imperiously before him and, lifting her hand, runs a long-nailed finger across an abrasion that’s leaking warmth down his cheek. He shies away, tries to, but the guards lean a little harder, and he stays pinned to stone while she stares into his eyes for a long time – before her lips part, and she licks his blood off her finger. The gleam in her eye makes his stomach turn and his lip curl.

“Your blood tastes like ours. Yet you are not like us.”

“Two arms, two legs, one head, lady – that’s makes us pretty damned alike, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.” She glides away, nods once, and - in a second - Sheppard’s on his knees, cheek pressed into the floor by the toe of her painted leather shoe. “That’s better – all you are to me is a curiosity. And as long as you remain a curiosity, you’ll stay alive.”

“We came here in peace an –” the word breaks into a gasp as his arm twists.

“You intruded on our land. You have nothing we want and your peace is nothing we care about.”

“Then let us go!”

“No, I really don’t think so.”

“Dammit, where’s McKay? Where’s the man I came with?” This time, he gets the words out before the twist sharpens, and the groan slips from him, even though he immediately and viciously bites down on the sound.

“Ah, sweet – the bodyguard worries about his charge. Truly, I can appreciate loyalty.” She crouches beside him, her long fingernail scratching at the skin by his eye. “I wonder, do you have any knowledge we need? Prove to me that I should be kind to you – though I doubt you can. What can you tell me of the fabulous city of the Founders?”

“There’s not enough towels and we can’t get CNN.”

And this time he screams.

When they drag him upright, sweat drips into his eyes, and he blinks it away to glare breathlessly as she comes closer. She’s so haughty, so utterly complacent, and so not willing to even listen, which is ridiculous – and Sheppard wonders if her complacency will last through Elizabeth’s anger.

“You’re strong. Oh, not in muscle. But in your mind. And I like strong.” She smiles – and already he hates that lift of her full, perfect lips. “Perhaps I should brand you.” She considers him, her eyes traveling across his face as her hand moves slowly down his body. “Though you’re not a slave. You’re just an ignorant, stupid soldier who happens to be all mine. I really must thank my sister for the kind thought – some gifts are more pleasurable than others.”

Sheppard’s back stiffens as she slides a hand between his legs, her fingers pushing up. “Lady, that’s one way to make a guy feel cheap.”

She laughs, and squeezes. Just once – hard.

He’s still gagging when she stands back and the guards let him crumple to the floor. His brain’s running into overdrive, because there’s a lot of things he can cope with, but he’s never been big on the whole femme fatale thing and, Jesus... Come on Elizabeth, get us out of here! Surely Teyla and Ronon are back by now. But what about McKay?

McKay. Jesus. Sheppard lifts his head and forces himself to speak politely. “Please, where’s McKay?”

She’s standing in the open doorway. “You mean the one you were guarding? Oh, he’s enjoying himself…”

Fuck . She’s laughing as she walks away and he comes off the floor fast, but the door’s slammed in his face, and he can only pound his fists on its solid metal, cursing as the locks are re-set.

Turning, he leans back, closing his eyes. Though that’s worse, because all he can see is Rodney, screaming, and that’s not good and not helping at all. Come on , he berates himself and carefully eases upright. First rule – check out the territory. Slowly, painstakingly, he begins to quarter the cell.

:::

“You know, I could get used to this kind of imprisonment.” Rodney McKay sighs contentedly.

“Rodney, this isn’t imprisonment.”

She says his name the right way, with an intonation that denotes admiration and a certain degree of awe – the sort of intonation Sam Carter never managed to even approach. Well, Carter should be here now. Well, actually, she shouldn’t, because these people worshipped technology, and right now? Rodney is high priest – complete with acolytes, handmaidens and a banquet in his honor. Right now, Carter would just get in the way – and that is so the first time he’s ever thought that.

He smiles at her teasing. “Well, Alyssa…”

“You don’t wear chains, do you?”

Alyssa - princess, queen, empress? - smiles up shyly, amused by her own comment, and Rodney laughs out loud, because, hey, no chains! “No, no, not one. Um, could you pass me some more of that stew-type thing?”

Candles are arrayed in sconces around the room, and there’s electric light as well. Rodney has a momentary question about their power source, but it’s one he doesn’t quite get around to asking as Alyssa serves him herself, without waiting or calling for a servant, and he’s aware of the ripple of whispers around the table. A slight breeze makes the candle-flames dance, and, as she reaches for the bowl, her long sleeves slide back to reveal intricate tattoos on her slim arms. Rodney stares at them, fascinated. Tribal, maybe. Though this society is way beyond that; equivalent to the mid-eighteen hundreds on Earth – but with less restrictive clothing. Rodney swallows, and tries - yet again - not to stare at the way her dress hides nothing of her curves. He’s already, much to his own embarrassment, had one conversation conducted while staring entirely into her cleavage.

“Please, take what you want.” She places the bowl at the side of his plate, pushing it a last half inch and smiling, apparently completely unaware of the meaning of innuendo. “It is delicious.”

“I’m sure. Yes, it’s very good. What’s the meat?” One more word with double meaning and he’ll blush, he knows it…

“A wild deer. We consider it a delicacy and the chefs prepared it especially for this welcoming supper.”

“My, that’s, um, very kind.” He breathes out in relief and spoons a piece into his mouth. Goodness, but it really is good. “Thank them – and you.” He swallows; enjoys a moment of bliss. “And yeah, the hunter too.”

Alyssa laughs out loud, as if she’s heard the most glorious joke. Rodney wonders if she has some mild form of Asperger’s, because her reactions are slightly off-key. But, considering her scientific interests - and her seemingly unending delight in himself - Rodney’s not really surprised. That the other people around the table all laugh too is more curious – unless the entire society suffers from particular priorities and skewed social understanding. Well, he’s come across stranger things in his travels and, right now? He doesn’t care, because he’s in love with this planet.

A servant tops up his wine, and he sips contentedly, looking around. The room is high, the ceiling delicately ornamented with carved flowers. Everything is pale – the walls are a silvery-blue, the servants in uniform pale gray with white, intricate tattoos inscribed over their cheeks. The long dining table is packed with the great and the good, all high ranking, amazingly charming… not that talkative though, which is a little strange, but maybe they’re in awe, and besides, Alyssa makes up for them all.

“This evening, Rodney, would you care to walk with me?”

“Um, sure. But, I was, well, wondering.” It feels wrong to push, when they’re being so nice. But Sheppard could find trouble in Paradise – even before the apple ripened. “Can I see Colonel Sheppard yet?”

“Soon, I am certain.”

“I mean, I know you said he’s okay, but, it’s been a day now, and I really think -”

“Hush… Soon, I am sure, but…” She breaks off; smiling coyly as a blush delicately colors her pale cheeks. “I don’t know how to say this…”

One of the men leans across the table. “Alyssa’s too shy to tell you – but your companion is with her sister.”

Alyssa nods. “With Marisa.”

With Marisa. Rodney sighs, and feels one knot of tension release. Of course. He should have known. Really. He blinks, and looks down at his plate, unaccountably no longer hungry. “Does, um, she, look like you?”

“They tell me we are like light and shade. Where I am fair,” she teases a finger through a long, blonde curl, “she is dark. But, if you think me pretty, then Marisa you would think beauteous beyond compare.”

“Prettier than you? No way!” The whole table erupts in merriment. Rodney almost blushes himself, but holds it back and grins sheepishly.

“Thank you.” Alyssa leans over to him, and her lips brush across his cheek. He holds still for a moment, wondering if he’s hallucinating – then she does it again. And all he can think is – Sheppard, see? Just look at me now…

:::

John Sheppard hates prisons. Not that he’d seen one before Pegasus. Well, there was that one time… but that wasn’t prison, not exactly.

There’s no mistaking what this is. Or how cold it is, and, well, he’s not madly keen on that either.

Sitting on the floor (not that there’s any option, thanks, guys) he wraps his arms around his knees and tries to conserve body heat. The stretch pulls at the muscles in his back and sides, but he can deal with the discomfort. At least this time they’ve left him with his pants and T-shirt.

He knows every inch of the cell. Also, he’s run through the available facts so often they’re close to acting as a mantra. But, hey, at least a few of them are plus-points: Teyla and Ronon escaped (which hopefully means that rescue is at least in negotiation); Rodney, well, Sheppard has to assume he is alive – which, for now, he counts as a plus.

He still can’t believe how easily the trap had been sprung. But there was no way he was running, not with Rodney’s throat about to be sliced open. Their guards had been kind enough. Courteous, in a give us your weapons or else kinda way, and had stayed that way even if Rodney had bitched through every step of the journey to the citadel – about everything from the heat to the cold to the distance involved. Sheppard had thought it soothing, he doubted the guards found it so. 

What had followed had been a yo-yo between anxiety and boredom. Held in a vast, exquisitely ornate chamber, there’d been nothing to do but wait, while their austerely dressed captors simply watched. Hell, Rodney had probably been the best entertainment they’d had in a while. Sheppard had let Rodney work off some tension – letting himself be bossed around wasn’t a problem. Sheppard knew - and Rodney understood - that it was just a defense mechanism. And Sheppard didn’t mind. He’d been amused when Rodney found the Ancient gizmo that powered the doors – and had mended it with, apparently, spit and a twist of copper-like wire he’d found on the floor.

Soon after that, they’d taken Rodney away and then brought him here.

Though, since that first time, the bitch-queen hasn’t spoken of Rodney again. Repeatedly asking only brought impatience. And Sheppard now knows that an impatient torturer is really not a good thing.

Sighing, he looks around. A stone-built room with one door. The room feels medieval but the locks are advanced technology – as is the overhead light, which is dimmed or brightened at their control. The woman’s language is antiquated, but her guards carry guns that - for all their ugliness - are hi-tech, capable of stun as well as, presumably, lethal force. As a race, they’re never going to sign the Geneva Convention, not when all he’s been left is one jug of stale water and no food at all.

Dammit, he’s not keen on the slop-bucket, either.

Fighting against shivering, he shifts slightly, pulling his feet a little closer, feeling the scrape of stone on bare feet. They’re pretty numb, and he peers down, seeing dead-white skin, mottled here and there with bruises. He wiggles his toes, mildly happy that they all seem to work on command.

The bitch-queen, Marisa, doesn’t seem to want him permanently damaged. So far nothing’s broken, for which he’s really sincerely grateful. Not that she needs overt brutality – the device she’s so fond of delivers pain with a delicacy and control that’s frightening. So maybe breaking bones is passé on this world. Small mercies, and all that.

Sheppard sits, quite still, and his empty stomach clenches as he thinks about Rodney. Rodney strapped to her work-table. He closes his eyes, teeth grinding an ache up into his skull. Rodney. Fuck. He’d rather be tortured than have any member of his team hurt. Any member. But Rodney most of all – Rodney who feels things with such heightened sensitivity. Taking a deep breath, Sheppard straightens his back, and leans his head against the wall. Rodney won’t break though. He’s too stubborn. But, the things they can do before they realize that, concern Sheppard enormously.

Startled out of thought, he shifts into a crouch as the light flickers into brightness and the door clangs open. Three guards. Sheppard waits, lets them do the work of dragging him to his feet and out through the seemingly endless corridors into her special room. He knows the routine by heart. Mostly he doesn’t think about what’s happening. It’s far easier to worry about rescue. About Teyla and Ronon. Most of all though, he worries about Rodney.

:::

The bed is wide, covered in sheets so smooth they feel like warm, soft glass. Lying alone, the covers tucked under his arms, Rodney stares up at the canopy and chews his lower lip.

Why can’t he relax. After all, he does like this world. It has pajamas that don’t scratch – his skin feels less irritated than it has since he started developing allergies sometime around fifth grade. It has good food and interesting power sources and beautiful women who like him, but… There’s something.

He needs to see Sheppard. Even if Colonel Studmuffin is busy making cozy with some alien princess and having the time of his life. Besides, Sheppard should be wanting to see him too. Not that Rodney’s offended. Or jealous. Or put out in any way. Sheppard can do whatever he wants, but…surely he can see there are priorities at stake here!

And besides, the niceness is getting to him.

After a couple of days of bliss, Rodney’s beginning to wonder exactly why it’s all so pleasant. After all, it’s hardly the usual experience. Even if they like his brain – and Princess Alyssa of Asperger seems to like his body too, which is weird enough to set alarm bells ringing – what can they want with Sheppard? Okay, there’s the math. And the body. Oh, all right, there’s the face and the smile, and the fact that there’s hardly a sentient being that isn’t fascinated by him, but… he’s not going to be making staggering breakthroughs for their technology.

Just in their appreciation of a good fuck.

All right, so he doesn’t know that for certain, but good grief, if Newton could make deductions from given data then so can Rodney McKay. Rodney sits up, thumps his pillow and throws himself back down, this time on his side, glowering at the wall. Observation can be as conclusive as empiricism. With the given data, dammit, Rodney knows all about Sheppard. About how good he probably is. And Rodney just hopes Princess Lucky is enjoying herself.

Besides - and this thought makes him sit up suddenly - Sheppard should be here. He’s clearly neglecting his job. Rodney groans softly, because, yes, yes, Sheppard doesn’t do that. He’s not, for all his surfer-guy dude-ness , a slacker. So.

Pushing aside the covers, Rodney pulls himself to the side of the bed. If whatever-her-name brunette sister to Princess Hottie isn’t letting Sheppard out of bed, then maybe someone needs to go and drag him out of it.

A click sounds loud in the silence, and the door opens – wide enough for a slim figure to slip through. Moonlight catches on Alyssa’s pale, blonde hair. She’s wearing a long garment made of some fine, floaty fabric. Very fine. Very floaty. He swallows.

Diaphanous. Oh, yes, that was the word. And wow, she’s built… Slim, slender, but… Standing up - and er, yes, standing up, because yes, hold the headlines, Rodney McKay is human - he closes his mouth and blinks as she sways towards him.

“Rodney…”

Jesus. Surreptitiously, he pinches his side. Awake. Definitely awake. “Hi… Um…”

“I was wondering,” she’s close now, smiling sweetly, eyes downcast and innocent, “if you would like some company?

Her nipples are dark shadows under the dress, the tips hard and eager. Oh, Lord… “Company?” Good grief, he’s squeaking, but this is beyond overwhelming.

“Please?”

No one. Ever. Has asked him like this. Begged him. And, even if his fantasies have on occasion run to Sheppard on his knees, this is like the sum of his youth, every crazy, overwhelming desire he’s ever had for women way beyond him coalesced in this room, in this lovely, lovely creature who’s just staring at him wide-eyed and beseeching. He blinks away the image of Sheppard’s hazel eyes when they flicker with emotional truth (which does happen if you watched very carefully, and Rodney is very good at exactingly accurate observation) – pushes it from his mind, because there are some things he’ll never have, and this woman is here, well, flesh and blood – and Sheppard’s got his own alien girl-friend, so why not. Why not…

“Sure.” Which is less welcoming than he means. But, words are specious, and right now he’s reaching for her, and she’s melting into him, and, quite frankly, he’s fourteen again and thought can just go fry.

:::

“I like soldier boys – they endure so deliciously.”

“Fuck you…” The words come out of his mouth twisted and muffled; he’s really too busy panting for breath to speak, but he can’t not react, can’t not at least try and spit some venom back at her viciously contented face.

Intent must have been clear, because the pain rips through him again, and he’s writhing on the floor, spasming muscles straining against the leather straps that bind his wrists and arms and ankles. When it finally ends, all he can do is lie still and gasp thankfully.

A hand tilts his head up, and he cracks open his eyes to see her crouching at his side. So pretty, so utterly feminine – and so completely evil. He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at her. Not wanting to think of her playing with McKay. His name is on Sheppard’s tongue. The need to ask about his team-mate almost overwhelming, but he bites the inside of his mouth bloody, sure that anything he says can only make McKay’s situation worse.

“Now.” Marisa smiles and her eyes are depthless with desire. “I think it’s time to strap him to the table.”

Yeah, of course. The routine, inevitable as night and day. He spits blood onto stone, and hisses when she drags his head back.

“So, pretty, what shall we play today?”

:::

Alyssa sighs contentedly as Rodney slips out of her to fall onto his back, panting for breath.

“Thank you, Rodney.” She whispers the words as she curls into him, her face glowing with pleasure. Hell, he’s glowing too (not literally of course – that is still apparently reserved for higher beings and Air Force colonels). But alien sex? Well, he gets what Sheppard sees in it. Oh yeah.

“Mmm…”

She wraps her arm around him. “You’re so strong. Will you take me to Atlantis when you return?”

“Sure…” Sleep is there, blissful, dreamless sleep…

“It must be wondrous to be king.”

“King?” He snorts with amusement. “As if.”

“Are you not?”

“If anyone’s king, it’s Sheppard.” He feels her stiffen at his side, but ignores it, too blissed-out to really care.

“Your friend?”

“Mmm, King Sheppard of Atlantis. You know, even the doors open when he thinks them open.” He’s over it, really, but it’s still funny “How unfair is that?”

“So, you’re not the powerful one?”

“Well, that would depend on your point of view. I keep the place running. Oh yes, see them try and survive without me!”

“But what of the codes?”

Codes. 

Adrenaline provides such an instant reaction. Rodney can almost feel it rushing through him, wildly alerting every cell to danger. Atlantis codes? “Alyssa, what –”

“He called you Lord and Master!”

What? Rodney shakes his head, but remembers, back in that room when they were first brought here – Sheppard clowning around. “Yes, yes, I know, but it’s a phrase – sarcasm being the lowest form of wit and all. Irony?” He blinks as she sits, staring at him with horror in her eyes. “It was a joke – not a very funny one, true, but then Sheppard’s not exactly Joan Rivers!”

She pushes away, almost stumbling as she jumps off the bed and runs to the door, pulling on her robe as she goes.

“Alyssa?”

Rodney’s not far behind her, but she’s through and in the corridor, already alerting guards as he gets to the door. One of them pushes him back. 

“Alyssa!”

She ignores him. “Keep him here.” And she’s gone, running.

:::

There’s always a moment when he wishes they’d simply ask him questions. At least then he’d have the choice of ending the pain. Of giving in. He would now. Maybe. While the world is a mist of red that burns behind his eyelids. When he knows she’s not done with him. He knows, because, day and night, a time for everything – here, things happen in sequence.

He’s strapped tight to the table, and any moment he expects the escalation that’ll bring her pleasure. But - and there’s no way he’s complaining - there seems to be a hold up. Resigned, he opens his eyes, twisting his head the little he’s able, to peer towards the door. She’s there. With another woman – a reverse image. Where Marisa is dark, this one is pale, as if sculpted from ivory. Sisters, maybe. Mind you, blood would show like the devil on that white silk. Marisa’s black is far more suitable for practicing the art of torture.

He frowns as they walk towards him. Mirror faces, identically angry as they lean over him. Marisa holds his chin. “Do you have the codes that would let us into the city of the Founders?”

Sheppard knows he’s slow right now, but what the fuck?

“Sheppard!” She shakes him, nails digging into skin. “Speak!”

Then let go of me, lady! But he manages one word, “Why?”

At that he thinks she might have apoplexy, but that’s no skin off him – no more than she’s already taken anyway. “Because I order it!”

And damn, if that doesn’t make him laugh. “Now, after all this, you want me to be civil !”

The blonde one puts a hand on Marisa’s arm. “He has a point. But Rodney says he’s the one we need.”

Thank you, Rodney… But the thought is ironic, and Sheppard baulks at dwelling on what they’ve done, on what could make Rodney admit such a thing.

“Alyssa, this one was mine to play with!”

“No more.” Her cool, pale gaze inspects his body, and Sheppard feels himself shrink away, though he might as well not be sentient for all they care. “We no longer have the possibility of winning by seduction. He wouldn’t believe us now…”

“True. There is always pain, sister.”

Alyssa, the pale one, leans over him, and his breath catches when he sees the depth of cold in her eyes. The casual summing up of his state of being. “No, you won’t break him. Not if he hasn’t broken already.”

“I could try?”

He can’t drag his eyes away from the pale inspection, yet he knows Marisa is pouting, because her sister is shaking her head. Which is good. No more pain would be kinda pleasant, and hell, seduction would be a change. Make nice to me, ladies, make nice… 

She nods, once, and then turns to her sister. “Marisa, have him taken to his cell. We have to re-consider everything.”

:::

By the time she returns, Rodney’s chewed one nail down to the quick. He sucks at the blood and stands up as the door slams open.

“Do you know the commands that would make Atlantis ours?”

“What? No!”

“Then the other one, Sheppard – he does.”

“No!”

She walks towards him, two guards stalking behind her. “You’re lying. He knows.”

“Well… we both do!”

“No, you spoke truth before. He is king and you are merely his vassal.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Be quiet!”

“Oh, no – and what have you been doing to him anyway? Where’s the colonel?”

Alyssa nods to the guards, and they take Rodney by the arms, starting to lead him out of the room. Almost to herself, she curses, “I was such a fool – to think you were the important one!”

“What, I –” But Rodney snaps his jaw closed, finally understanding that silence is the only answer.

They lead him away from the luxury of private rooms and down through the citadel. As they go the stairways narrow, and the air grows chill. When they descend into the lower levels there’s no mistaking that it’s a prison. Trepidation speeds up Rodney’s heart, but there’s nothing he can do as they hustle him along, down and down, deeper under the earth, until there’s a line of cell doors and they open one – only long enough to push him inside.

The cell’s bitterly cold and cloyingly damp. In the dim illumination he sees a body, half-sprawled against the far wall. Impulses in a mass of confliction, Rodney can’t decide if he’s here to be murdered, or here for something else. Booted footsteps receding into the distance, he pries himself away from the door as the figure stirs.

“Rodney?”

The disbelief is mutual. “Colonel?” Relief leaves him shaking, and he stumbles across the room, falling at Sheppard’s side, one hand clutching the curve of his shoulder. Though he lets go as if burned when Sheppard gasps, and he’s panicking because he can’t see clearly in the shadows, and Sheppard’s too good at hiding when things are wrong even in bright sunlight – but that was pain. “Are you all right? What’ve they done to you? Colonel, please…”

“Hey, Rodney, slow down. I’m fine.”

“Oh, yes, of course – you always sound half dead. Excuse me for even considering being concerned.”

“Hey, Rodney. Calm.”

“Yes. Yes. Of course.” Gulping in air, Rodney nods. Yes. Calm. He can do calm.

Sheppard moves, slowly and cautiously, until he’s sitting up, with his legs stretched out in front of him. “Come here. Sit.” He pats the space next to him,

Rodney sits – while his brain spins wildly around what’s happened, what might have happened, what’s going to happen. About Sheppard – who clearly hasn’t been in anyone’s bed having fun. Not fun for him anyway. Oh, God, and the bitch must have known, all that time. “I am so stupid – you want to know how stupid? I slept with her!”

“Gee, thanks for sharing, Rodney. But, who?”

“Oh, blondie.”

“One of the twisted sisters.” John nods sagaciously.

As Rodney’s sight adjusts, he can see blood on Sheppard’s face, dark and dried. “Alyssa.”

“Nice name.” 

“Jesus, I slept with her and I told her about you – not that I meant to of course, but…” he gulps and - quite spectacularly - hates himself.

“Rodney, whatever you said stopped the other one from getting on with playtime, so, hey, I really don’t have a problem.”

Which sounds like Sheppard, but not quite… Rodney hesitates, frowning. “Colonel – are you all right?”

Sheppard coughs a small laugh. “You mean apart from the general stuff, like being locked up in a cell, and bleeding all over the manacles?”

“Manacles?” Rodney jerks in surprise. “Jesus Christ…”

“Mmm.” Sheppard sighs, then shifts slightly. Rodney realizes he’s humming softly under his breath, the tune unrecognizable; nothing but a soft succession of notes blurring into something like a melody.

“John?” Rodney turns and, awkwardly, gets his arm around Sheppard’s shoulders, easing him close. He feels cold, and Rodney’s body-heat must be making an impression, because he burrows closer, murmuring incomprehensible words. “Are you drugged?”

“Don’ think so.”

“You’re a bit, um, spaced out…”

“Spaceman. His name was John too – though I’ve never seen Earth from space to know if it’s blue or not. No, no, it wasn’t John, it was Tom . Man, how could I forget that?”

“John, look at me.”

What good it’ll be in the half-light, Rodney’s not sure. Obediently, John lifts his head, but his eyes are dark shadows in a pale, drawn face. “I’m tired.”

“Oh.” Maybe that’s it. Tired. Rodney nods. “Come on, sleep here.”

Resting his head back on Rodney’s shoulder, John nods and slowly drifts away. For a long time, Rodney stares into the shadows, until he too, falls into an uneasy sleep.

:::

As always, the worst of the pain is gone when Sheppard awakes. There’s a curious factor to the waking this time; comfort. Relative, of course, but there, as his head is resting on something soft. A snore snuffles into his ear and, frowning, he opens his eyes to peer at a gray-clad leg. Atlantis uniform. Rodney.

For a long moment, he keeps still and simply exists in a world where Rodney is alive – the relief so intense that he feels lightheaded with hope and possibility and just Rodney .

Not that anything else has changed. Same cell, same crappy ache in his bones. At least there’s light enough for him to see, and he needs to see, to know that Rodney’s whole and that there’s one less thing to blame himself for. Sheppard moves, slightly – which is enough to bring Rodney into sharp, flailing wakefulness.

“Hey!” Ducking the hand that almost swipes him in passing, Sheppard holds onto Rodney’s wrist.

“Sheppard?” Rodney’s blinking away sleep, turning, looking at him, his face a river of emotions. “Jesus, are you –”

“Fine.” Sheppard shrugs ruefully, and winces. “See, almost as good as new.”

“But… last night…”

“It’s always worst, straight after.”

“Oh. The sister. The dark one.”

It’s so easy to talk to Rodney; he understands the spaces between words. “Marisa.” Sheppard’s capacity for hate is slowly roused, but it’s been days since he added her name to a short, but eclectic list. “Fill me in, what’s happening?”

“Do you remember anything about me arriving?”

“Not much. I remember being warm.” And Sheppard smiles, because Rodney looks so miserable, but he’s apparently undamaged, and after all that Sheppard’s imagined, that’s fine.

“Fuck.” Rodney leans forward, his hands twisting where they’re clasped in his lap. “I screwed up. Well, actually, I screwed and, after all these years, I really ought to have known that gift-blondes don’t come without a price.”

“Okay, enough with the self-flagellation, how about you tell me what happened?”

“Yes. Yes… Actually, no. First of all, tell me how you are.”

“What? Rodney, I said I’m fine!”

“Oh, no, you don’t get away with it like that. We could sit here for hours and argue priorities, but if we get a chance to escape - which is so unlikely what with being about three floors underground and in the middle of a Wraith-resistant citadel and all, but you never know, because stranger things happen at sea (which I’ve always thought was a stupid expression) or when you’re around to save the day, Colonel - and you can’t save the day if your leg’s falling off or if you’re about to collapse from blood loss or fever or –”

“Rodney. Hey...”

And Rodney stops talking. Almost. “Just…show me.” He rubs a hand up and down his own upper arm. “Please.”

“Watch.” Sheppard stands up, with an effort he can’t quite hide, and he turns once, in a circle, wishing his pants weren’t quite so filthy, or his T-shirt so torn, but hell, he’s pretty filthy himself, and as for torn, well, maybe a little. “Nothing’s falling off.”

“Yeah, but not for want of them trying!”

“Rodney, they weren’t doing anything serious – the bitch queen was only playing. See, no bones broken, hardly a scratch.” It was a good attempt, but the resolution on Rodney’s face only hardens and Sheppard knows he’s failed to stem the tide of need to know . He has one last ditch try. “Come on – could I stand up if I was in a seriously bad way?”

“Nothing would surprise me regarding your phenomenal capacity for ignoring your own debilitation.”

“Yeah, right. Rodney, I’m fine!”

“Then why are you pale as a ghost, and oh, let me think, that browny red stuff that’s stained your clothing, can that really be blood?” He stops there, and when he continues his tone is completely different. “Colonel, please, what did she do?”

“I’m not sure.” To buy time, Sheppard sits himself back down, almost falling, but Rodney’s hands ease him the last few inches and he keeps very close, which is good. Warmer, for a start, and after all the cold it’s wonderful. “Something electrical maybe, but a league beyond most of their technology. Ancient perhaps, I don’t know. “He shrugs. “Whatever it is, the control has really fine tuning.”

“Just pain, nothing else?”

Sheppard nods. Just pain . Yeah, right. He shrugs. “Muscular weakness. Cramps. Residual aches and strains. Nothing important. Mind you, a really hot, long bath would be so good right now.”

“Something that targets the neural pathways. Lovely.” Rodney puts his hands between his knees and lets out a long, uneven breath. “So, were they ever, you know, nice to you?”

“Nice?” Sheppard almost laughs at that. “No. Not so much. Why?”

“Oh. They were nice to me.” Turning, Sheppard sees Rodney looking down at his hands again, and his mouth has that lopsided twist which could as easily denote derision as shame. Or maybe both at once. “Very, very hospitable.”

“Good for you. Let it go, Rodney. You didn’t ask for it to be this way around.”

“No. But, all the time I was being wined and dined, part of me really didn’t quite believe it when they said you were having fun.”

“Fun?”

“Okay, sex.”

There’s a tiny sliver of something other than misery in Rodney’s face. It’s not quite shame, though that’s there too. Something else… Sheppard ignores it, and sighs wearily. “I didn’t think I’d ever be happy to say this – there was no sex.” 

“I can see that now!” Shaking his head, Rodney squirms. “The sister, I slept with her. Had sex with her.”

“Yeah, I remember, you mentioned it last night. Come on, Rodney, it’s all right – it happens.”

“Not to me! Colonel, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t say no – yes, yes, I know, I could but I didn’t. Stupid, huh? I didn’t think it through.”

There’s nothing to say. Hell, Sheppard’s slept with enough women he hasn’t really wanted to, for good and bad reasons. How can he accuse with all that in his history? Not that he wants to. He envies the lavish and large meals that Rodney’s been indulging in far more than any amount of sex. But, as always, there’s something else. “Rodney, what else did you tell her?”

“About you, you know, being the one they want – if they’re after Atlantis. I didn’t mean to! It just, came out, in the afterglow…”

“They’re clever.”

“What?”

“Treating us so differently. Good cop/bad cop – taken to extremes.”

“Oh. Oh, crap.”

“Yeah. But, hey, I’m glad you got good cop, because my head was going into some weird shit imagining what she was doing to you.” With total honesty, Sheppard grins at him. “And you want to know another good thing?”

“Let me guess, Elizabeth is at the very moment sweeping to our rescue?”

“No, that I can only hope for.”

“Then what?”

“Whatever happens, it’ll be easier with both of us dealing with it.”

“Of course. Two brains. Well, one and a half.” 

“Oh, one and three-quarters, please!”

Rodney looks away, but Sheppard knows he’s smiling as he settles back. They’re hip to hip, both of them with their legs bent at the knee, feet flat on the floor. The length of Rodney’s thigh presses against his own, warm, comforting. For a long moment, Sheppard stares down, seeing his own filthy pants’ leg, Rodney’s cleaner one. Black and pale gray. Then he blinks and switches to looking at his own hands, at the iron manacles that weight his wrists.

He could have stayed on Earth and missed this.

But then he’d have missed this . Rodney. Some deals were worth the price. 

“What’re you smiling at?”  
Sheppard grins then. “You.”  
“Thanks!”

“In a good way.”

“Sure.”

There’s a soft chink of metal as the chain slithers against itself, but John watches his own hand as it moves to rest on the solid warmth of Rodney’s thigh.

He hears Rodney clear his throat, and has to ask, “Not good?”

“Oh, no. I mean, yes. Good.”

“That’s all right then.” Sheppard leans back into the wall, though his breath catches when Rodney’s hand covers his own and squeezes it gently.

:::

They come for Sheppard a little after nightfall. He’s on his feet, ready, as the door opens, and Rodney can only watch - and protest very loudly - while they take him away.

He paces the cell for what feels like hours. At some point the slop-bucket is changed and a jug of water is left along with a loaf of dark, hard bread. The guard who watches him while a servant does the dirty work is young. He doesn’t respond when Rodney tries to talk with him, and in the end Rodney gives up and stands still until the process is done, and he’s alone again.

The bread tastes of dust – and he tries not to think about being hungry. Or that this is undoubtedly all Sheppard’s had to live on since they arrived four days ago.

He walks some more. Considers thinking to be a very poor pastime. And walks.

Until, an hour later, the door opens but instead of Sheppard, it’s Alyssa who walks in. Rodney feels his face flare scarlet.

“Rodney.”

“Hello, bitch.”

“Now, now.”

“Where’s Sheppard?”

“With Marisa.”

Well, he asked, and he can’t complain now his stomach is twisting into knots. “Why are you still hurting him?”

“Because we can?” She shrugs, then gestures emptily. “Actually, it’s because your people have come for you.”

“What!” Rodney gasps. “Then let us go! What good can it possibly do you to keep us now?”

Alyssa tilts her head to one side, considering. “They’re threatening to bomb the citadel and you’re our hostages?”

“No, no, we can stop them. Please, just let us go…”

“Stop! After such humiliation, you expect us to get away so easily?” She turns, anger heightening her color. “After I slept with you!”

“Oh, please – it wasn’t that bad.”

“I thought you were a king!”

“And I thought you were kind and decent – which one of us is more of a fool?”

“We’ll let you go. Perhaps you should beg.”

“Oh, please. Who do I beg to and how?”

Her lip curls scornfully. “You should have been the one we tortured – you’d break in an instant. Pathetic. You might crawl for the chance to go home, but your companion is proving less compliant. Which led us to a decision.”

“Let me guess, I’m really not going to like this, am I?”

“No.” She smiles suddenly. “You see, the only rightful punishment is for you to be as humiliated as we have been – as I am for having given my body to an oaf such as yourself.”

There’s cold sweat trickling down his back. “Humiliated. Okay. How exactly would that be?”

“His body is forfeit.”

“No – whatever you mean, no! I warn you now, if you kill him, we’ll destroy your entire city –”

“I’m sure.” The snarl takes all the beauty from her face. “Your commander - the woman - has warned us of this already. So, no, not the death of the body, just,” and she spits the words in her anger, “of his pride.”

It takes Rodney a moment. Then, as realization hits, he’s so incredulous that the words stutter from his mouth. “What are you people? You’re civilized, developed, urbane – and yet you’re going to rape him?”

“Oh, no. You misapprehend my meaning. We’re not going to do anything – you are.”

No. No way. For a brief moment, Rodney thinks he’s going to faint, but the room stops spinning and he stares at her, aghast. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t. Not usually. And, really, you shouldn’t have tried to fool us.”

“We didn’t!” Rodney could scream. He can feel it, there, building in his throat. “You simply misunderstood!”

The slap rocks his head to one side. “You are full of lies and trickery! And you will do as we say, or Marisa will leave you nothing but a husk to take home!”

“You wouldn’t…” But even as he says it, he knows how empty the words are. “Okay, you would. But, come on – why that? Please, I’ll do anything. Anything. We will. Us. Atlantis. What do you need? Food, weapons –”

“We wanted your city, but now that is not even a faint possibility. This is our vengeance - to know that your Sheppard returns having experienced a little of the shame that we have endured. It will almost be enough.”

“Shame. Right. After you came on to me? Really. You do know you’re insane?”

She smiles then. “And so what if we are – does it matter? Many have called us so, but we still rule this city, and we keep the Wraith away and live as we wish, with our own pleasures. We would have liked your city, but there is everything we need here. And while you are here, you obey us. Or, I promise you, your friend will regret more than you can imagine.”

Great. Sheppard’s not exactly an innocent. But… sleeping around and flirting and generally being so intolerably attractive weren’t usually offences punishable by rape. “I don’t know if I can do it.” Miserably, Rodney winces as he looks at her.

“But you will. And you’ll make him hurt. Make him remember us!”

“Oh, I doubt he’ll forget in a hurry – and if it helps I can keep reminding him! You know, postcards once a year – a little party once in a while in your honor …”

“Still joking? I don’t think you believe me to be serious. Perhaps you need to see what you’re saving him from.” She turns in a swirl of pale silk and walks to the door, pauses there, then nods to herself. “But first, I believe I will show you the city. Bring him.”

The city? Great. Now they were sightseeing while Sheppard was enduring God knows what. “Hey! I believe you!”

“Seeing is better.”

Fuck empiricism. Seriously.

Frantically, Rodney tries to think a way through this. There has to be a way out, one that’ll leave Sheppard whole and yet not, well, anything else. Because if Rodney has to do this, then Sheppard may live, and they may get back to Atlantis, but it’ll be the death of part of himself – the part that, deep down, wants Sheppard to care. To love him. To want him and to come willingly to his bed. And for heaven’s sake he’s even beginning to think the way these people talk, but, dammit, he feels biblical about this, and it’s a typical McKay-esque disaster that it takes this preposterous situation for him to acknowledge his feelings in anything other than a solitary fantasy in the depths of the night.

And a single touch of hands in a freezing cold cell.

Way to go, Pegasus - rape is so the perfect first date. Rodney laughs as he’s pushed along the corridor. It’s either that, or weep.

:::

Sheppard kneels on the floor, staring implacably at stone while one of her guards binds his arms. The leather straps are familiar, one fits around his wrists, the other slightly above his elbows. It gets cinched in tight, and he huffs softly as its buckled into place. The table is on the edge of his field of vision, and there is a part of him that’s relieved he’s not to be strapped to it this time. Somehow the pain is worse when you can’t move.

Yep, the power of positive thinking lives and breathes.

His eyes close, then slit open when he hears the swish of her skirts. Purple today. The fabric stiff, finely textured. It presses to his face as she leans over him, her scent - almonds and lilies - is so sickly sweet that he has to turn his face away, breathing shallowly through his mouth as she runs her hands over his arms and shoulders.

Today, as a special treat, they’ve taken all his clothes away. Nice touch, sweetheart, he thinks. But, hell, he’s military – naked or nude, he doesn’t really see the difference. Twisting his lips in an ironic smile, he looks up as she straightens.

“Don’t you trust them to get the cinch tight enough?” Tilting his head toward the guards, he stares into her eyes.

“I like to be certain. Nasty soldier-boy like you, I suspect you’d enjoy a little revenge.”

“You bet.”

“Shame it’s not going to happen.” Marisa laughs, out loud, and Sheppard frowns, realizing she’s amped up on something. And there’s no bets at all on it being a something he won’t like. Without looking at him, she moves away, swaying in time to some silent musical accompaniment, before darting back to crouch before him. “They’ll be here soon.”

Sheppard frowns. “Who?”

“My sister and your friend.”

“No.”

“No? Oh, but I think so. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.”  
“If you hurt him…”

“What, you’ll be cross?” She cups his face in her hands, staring deep into his eyes. “Tell me, would you beg?”

“Yes.”

Her thumbs rub gently under his eyes. “But not for yourself? What a strange creature you are, soldier.”

“Look…”

The thumbs pause, and he can see the nails, sharp and bright just under his line of sight. “I’m looking, soldier.”

“Don’t hurt him.” You motherfucking bitch . “Please.”

“Ah, so much concern. You know, he feels the same about you. Sweet, isn’t it? And now he’s coming here – and this little play will come to an end. I’ll miss you, truly I will.”

“And I’ll miss you. Right...”

“Ah, if only we had known quite what you meant to each other…”

Sheppard bites back the flare of triumph, that they hadn’t. That this was close to ending. Because Elizabeth was coming, and Ronon would kill everything and anything to get to them. And, right now? Sheppard’s really, really comforted by that thought.

:::

Rodney’s climbed up through the city; stairwell after stairwell, up to the glitteringly beautiful heart of their civilization. Here the stairs widen, come to be made of rare stone inset with marble, the balustrades carved delicately from pale woods. The higher they go the more flowers proliferate in the designs, and Rodney, sick to his stomach, wonders at a world where premeditated, sadistic cruelty can exist amidst such beauty.

Shadowed by her ever-present guards, Alyssa walks by his side. “I was born here.”

“How lovely for you.”

“Indeed. How old do you think I am?”

Vanitas, vanitas… Rodney takes a deep breath. She has to be mid-thirties. So, he guesses, with flatteringly wild inaccuracy. “Twenty-seven?”

“Three hundred and five. My birthday was last week – a few days before you came to us.”

“What?”

She laughs, the sound almost a simper. “Amazing, is it not?”

“Damn right. How… um… but…”

“’tis a gift from the founders to my family. We all live long.”

“Really?” And what he wants is a sample of her DNA. And her blood. And maybe a family history, but he guesses he’ll have to make do with being as awestruck as the next village idiot. 

“The only trial we suffer is that of boredom.”

“How terrible! So you kidnap innocent travelers to alleviate the ennui?”

“Sometimes.”

“Great. Couldn’t you take up macramé, or knitting?”

“We have other distractions – some prove better than others.”

Sheppard is clearly a top-drawer attraction for the other sister. Oh, well. The longer he could distract this one, the longer Elizabeth and Zelenka would have to work out a way through the shield.

He’s panting when they reach the roof. Climbing out into the air, he breathes in deeply, and looks up. The shield is opalescent, arcing over the city, perfect, beautiful. Through it he can see the Daedalus. Which is not a good sign.

“Alyssa – your shield. What powers it?”

“Our other gift from the founders, we have no way of knowing what they should be named, but we call them auri.”

ZPMs. “Um, and how many d’you have, because it looks to me as if our ship up there is giving your shields a pounding.”

“It can pound as much as it cares to. We have endured the attack of three Wraith hive ships and survived with hardly any loss of power. The Founders were kind to us. The citadel is impregnable.” She turns to him, her eyes wide and lambent with youth and innocence – both a lie. “Your Elizabeth Weir has yet to fully understand all we have told her.”

“Imagine than.” He calculates. So much power. How many ZPMs. If they are the power source... What if there’s something else here, something stronger, better, longer-lasting… “Alyssa, may I see the auri?”

Another smile. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“But –”

“Enough. Gag him – I’m very bored of his chatter. Marisa will be wondering where we are.” She pats his cheek. “And we wouldn’t want to annoy her, would we?”

:::

When the lock clicks open, both Sheppard and Marisa jump slightly and turn to the door. Alyssa walks in, her face pale, steely. Marisa releases Sheppard’s face and stands. “Where’s the other one?”

“Here.”

Behind her, Rodney’s pushed into the room. There’s a gag bound around his mouth, but otherwise he looks unhurt and Sheppard’s tension releases a notch. Just a notch, because the air is still thick with anticipation, and none of it’s his own.

Alyssa greets her sister with a careful kiss that fails to connect skin to skin. Sheppard watches, though his gaze slides past them to Rodney, who’s looking at him with eyes wide open and a clearly stated belief that telepathy really should be a possibility and right now would be a good time for it to click in.

It’s a look that brings the tension rippling back into him. Rodney’s clearly afraid. Not worried/anxious/fretsome, but actually terrified. The sisters are talking, and Sheppard drags his gaze away over to focus on them, but they break apart and Alyssa goes to Rodney.

“This is only a demonstration.”

It looks as if Rodney wants to vomit, but can’t because of the gag. There’s sweat beading on his upper lip, and Sheppard starts to shuffle forward on his knees, but a gun under his chin halts him dead, mind whirling, because he really doesn’t think he’ll deal with Marisa using that thing on Rodney. If they want to demonstrate anything, fuck it, they’ve got him.

“Marisa, please –”

Sheppard’s head rocks with the blow. It takes a moment before he can talk again, but he’s too late.

“Watch, Rodney. And remember, this is something we can make him endure for a very long time. The choice of exactly how long, is yours.”

What? They’re going to hurt him with Rodney as audience? The gag is being unpeeled from Rodney’s mouth, and Sheppard’s shaking his head… “Marisa –”

That one word is all he manages before the pain rips him to pieces. It’s different, worse, more, shinier, less easy, more difficult, inarticulately obscenely everything . Sheppard knows he’s screaming, but he can’t not , and it goes on until his voice breaks and then he can’t, though his mouth is open and he can feel the tendons in his throat straining as the scream pulses and twists silently inside him. There’s a time when time itself slips away, then he’s drifting in a sea of white. There’s warmth here, and something like the comfort of Rodney’s arms around his shoulders. He can hear Rodney shouting, his words on repeat again and again until the pain finally stops. Which makes him sob thankfully, because after that there’s nothing at all.

:::

They inject something into Sheppard to bring him around.

Rodney watches, and hopes that the Daedalus will just blast the entire planet into space dust. 

He’s kneeling, Sheppard’s limp body cradled in his arms, while Alyssa stands over them - still perfectly calm, unperturbed by what she’s witnessed. 

“He’ll be alert in a moment or two.”

Rocking slightly, Rodney shakes his head miserably and simply hopes Sheppard stays out of it. He has weird reactions to alien drugs, so he might. Which makes him worry about Sheppard not waking up at all. Then the muscles under his hand shift, almost imperceptibly, as Sheppard begins to stir.

Looking up, Rodney tries pleading. “Look, we won’t cause you any trouble. We’ll take our nice big spaceship away and we’ll never, ever come back through your stargate. Please, let us go.”

“Of course - after this.”

This. Oh, yes. This. “It’s… You see, I don’t think I can.”

“Really.” Marisa comes and stands next to her sister.

Rodney stares at them bleakly, seeing their age finally in their implacability, and their self-obsession. Beautiful sisters, dark and light – though without their color being weighted in any way by a moral precept, as both are equally, stupidly cruel. “I don’t respond well to being terrified out of my life.”

“You only have to have sex with him. That’s hardly a terrifying ordeal, is it?”

“No, but everything else is! You made me watch while –” He breaks off, can’t finish, can’t think about it, not if he’s to do anything other than gibber in a corner for the rest of his life.

The dark one crouches by him, and she goes to touch Sheppard’s head, but Rodney bats her hand away, sneering when she hisses in indignation. “What? Don’t touch the princess?”

“Yes – you are not home yet!”

“Tell me about it.” He laughs, gasping as Sheppard shifts again, his eyes opening and looking straight up and into his own. “John?”

“Rodney?” It sounds as if the single word has been scratched through thorns.

“Yes, yes, I’m here. So are the twisted sisters, so be careful, okay?”

Not that it looks as if Sheppard’s going to be fighting off anything anytime soon. Rodney helps him to sit up, making sure he’s not going to be falling over immediately. The effort it’s costing Sheppard to gather himself is almost palpable. “What’s going on?”

Before Rodney can form his thoughts into words, Marisa clicks her fingers, and the guards move in to pull Sheppard to his feet. She speaks first too. “A little vengeance, that is all.”

“What?” Sheppard’s still too uncoordinated, and Rodney bites his lips as he twists, fighting the guards’ grip on his arms. “Rodney, what’s happening?”

“Rape.” There, he’s said it.  
“What!”

“Not the guards!” Rodney gulps in a breath. “Me. They want me to rape you. Somehow they seem to think it’ll be payback for the bitch queen there seducing me.”

“Now, that’s really fucked-up logic.”

“Exactly. But they seem set on it – and, um, did I mention the Daedalus is overhead, and zapping away at the shields with about as much effect as lobbing paper airplanes?”

“Elizabeth…”

“Can’t do anything. This place is sealed tight – and the only way out is when the sweet, kind, ladies here, say so.”  
“Oh, great.”  
“My thoughts exactly. But the rape comes first, and Colonel, I don’t know about you, but I’m not big on public sex and being the object of voyeuristic sadism!”

“We could gag you again.”

Alyssa’s voice cuts him dead. Because they could, and ridiculously, that would be worse. Though worse in a last straw kind of way, which takes him back to the idea of gibbering in a corner, because sometimes thinking is way too hard and making decisions and doing are just implausibly impossible. “John, I… I can’t!” He’s imploring, and it’s not right that he has to make this Sheppard’s decision, Sheppard’s guilt, but all Rodney can see is that corner, and his own looming insanity.

“Do it.”  
“What? Just like that?”

“Sure. Anyway they want. Faster you do it, faster we’re outta here, right?” Rodney nods. Sheppard stands very straight, hands open and loose at his sides, the nudity of his body something utterly inconsequential. The only sign of nervousness is when he licks his dry, cracked lips. “Right. Okay, ladies, this is your show – how’d you like us?”

And Rodney suddenly sees what Sheppard means, how they can take the humiliation out of this, make it something other than the rape the sisters want – even if it’s never going to be the love-making of his own fantasies. His fingers feel thick and stubborn as he pulls his jacket off, but Sheppard’s looking at him, and there’s approbation in his eyes. Which is pretty much all it takes for Rodney to know that this will be, if not easy, then not the terror of his imaginings.

He starts to unfasten his pants, but Alyssa’s fingers stop him. “Remember what we spoke of, Rodney. This is punishment, not pleasure.”

Which makes him laugh, the sound soft and bitter. “Pleasure? Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any room for mistaking the two. Unless there’s a bed and a tube of lubricant around here that you’ve neglected to mention?”

“No. Do it.”

“I was trying to.”

She nods, and stands back while he finishes stripping. There’s a table, stained dark in places, leather straps hanging loose and empty. He blanks it out, and instead walks over to Sheppard, who smiles, though his hands feel chilly when he cups Rodney’s biceps to bring him close.

Sheppard bends his head, and his face is there, against Rodney’s neck, and he’s whispering: “Hard and fast. Let’s get out of here.”

His own whisper is far less steady. “Hard might be a problem.” Which makes him laugh, the sound twisting into misery.

“No it won’t.” And Sheppard slides to his knees, the movement awkward, clearly painful and Rodney’s shaking his head, because this is wrong, unbelievably wrong, when John should be in the infirmary and his own longings should be locked up and not put out like flags for the world to see. But then there’s warmth encircling the softness that hangs uselessly between his legs and he looks down, has to, because Sheppard shouldn’t have to be doing this alone. And even though it’s so wrong it takes his breath away, there’s something so perfectly beautiful about Sheppard’s face, about him - mouth wide, eyes open and intent - sucking Rodney.

When Sheppard cups his balls, Rodney moans softly, and Sheppard does it again. After that, the physiological process is immediate, and he sighs – as much with relief as arousal. With one last lick, Sheppard stands, bows ironically to their audience, to the women and the guards. His face is serene, and Rodney wonders how he could ever have not loved him.

Not that he can think, of anything at all, right now. Rodney knows he’ll need to be very hard. Circling his shaft with his fingers, he squeezes, jerking his hand up and down while Sheppard leans over the table and spreads his legs apart.

The bruises almost undo Rodney. “John… what…”

“Don’t look.” Sheppard peers over his shoulder, and for a second Rodney can see what this is costing him. Nodding, Rodney stands in close, and leaning forward kisses the length of his lean back, mouth gently pressing against the worst of the abrasions and marks. Somehow this one tenderness has to be enough. Because no rescue is going to save them now. Only themselves.

Rodney spits into his hand, and watches the play and pull of muscles under Sheppard’s skin as he deliberately relaxes, as he feels the moment Rodney pushes up tight against his body, fingers spreading the meager slickness before holding himself into place.

“Go on…”

Reaching forward, Rodney takes hold of Sheppard’s hand, and, holding tight, pushes forward.

As fucks go, it’s a mess. He’s not quite hard enough, and he knows he hurting Sheppard, but he also knows he can do this. Sweat drips into his face and he works his way to release, while Sheppard clings to the table and holds on, head bowed, ribs heaving as he pants for breath and works his own ass back into Rodney. Taking the fuck and giving it. Making it the hard, fast thing that’s been demanded of them, until Rodney feels the orgasm, there, ripping through him, and he falls forward, spilling into Sheppard’s body, his mouth pressed to the saltiness of Sheppard’s skin.

There’s no time for afterglow. They’re pulled apart and Rodney fights as Sheppard slumps to the floor. After a moment they let him go, and he falls to Sheppard’s side.

“Sorry – think the drug wore off…” Sheppard’s woozy, but Rodney gets him to his feet, props him against the table while he dresses, quickly, thinking that one naked captive might be one too many anyway – though as it’s Sheppard, Ronon could still feel it necessary to kill a few people. Which would be fine. Really. As long as it’s the women who have just left, their victory complete – and Rodney’s not even sure if they watched all the way through.

The guards take them outside, and Rodney has about time enough to take all of Sheppard’s weight before the Asgard beam takes them.

 

The End.  
30th May 2006

 

The gods do not fight against necessity.  
Not even the gods war against necessity.  
I praise and love all men who do no sin willingly; but with necessity even the gods do not contend.  
**Simonides** (556 BC - 468 BC), from Plato, Dialogues: Protagoras


End file.
